Not Half Bad
by Silverr
Summary: A mysterious purchase, a frantic chase, a deceitful gnome, a cheese-loving death knight, and a warlock with horny minions: Jadaar has a secret, and Asric is determined to uncover it. ** Contains sundry saucy talk and references to erotic activities (but is not explicit).
1. Part I

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

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A giftfic for **Jack of None**.

**NOTE**: For those who may not know, Asric (a blood elf) and Jadaar (a draenei) are minor NPCs first introduced in the Burning Crusade expansion. In BC they were in Shattrath, investigating Griftah's shady business in Lower City for their respective factions (Scryer and Aldor). ~ In Wrath, having bungled the Griftah case, they moved to Northrend, to the Cantrips and Crows saloon in the Underbelly of Dalaran, where they sat and drank, each bitterly blaming the other for their failure. ~ Call of the Crusade moved them to the Argent Tournament grounds, where they stand next to a drink stall continuing to exchange banter and mild insults.

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><p><strong>Not Half Bad<strong>

_by Silverr, for Jack of None_

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**.**

**[Part I]**

It all started with a mug of mulled caraway burnwine.

.

Asric missed Dalaran, where it was warm and the smells of straw and damp animals were confined to Krasus' Landing and Breanni's shop. Where the patrons in the Cantrips & Crows sat and drank and talked indiscreetly for hours, and where Kylene was known to tolerate a certain amount of pickpocketing as long as she got a cut. Everything had been perfectly pleasant until the pettiness of an overly-sensitive and well-connected archmage had necessitated Asric's speedy departure.

He'd been able to slip into a group of workers being taken to a tournament. It had sounded promising: such events were usually crowded with careless festival-goers and harried food vendors. As it turned out, the Argent Tournament was not festive at all, but a combat training ground situated in a remote corner of Northrend's icy hell. The few marks attending were far too well bundled against the cold to be parted from their valuables, and the half-frozen vendors had nothing better to do than glare suspiciously at any hungry elves that edged near.

Asric's gold had quickly been spent, and after a week he'd resigned himself to dying on the soggy straw under the bleachers of the Ring of Champions, forgotten by everyone. The entire situation had been especially galling because several weeks previously a certain irksome ex-Peacekeeper had quite unexpectedly suggested sharing one of the Legerdemain's sturdier beds, a very satisfying followup to what had happened between them some years before in Shattrath's World's End Tavern. As far as Asric was concerned this had established a trend, and he had been sure Jadaar would have continued to warm to him... if they'd been able to remain in Dalaran.

As it was, he was going to be dying on the soggy straw under the bleachers of the Ring of Champions, forgotten by everyone, etc., etc.

And then, as he began to feel himself fading into frozen delirium, Jadaar had shown up at the Tournament. "This is a list," the draenei had said without preamble as he'd shaken out a long scroll, "of the items you are alleged to have taken from the home of Archmage — "

"Not his home," Asric had wheezed. "From the apartment he rents for assignations. And I only took enough to cover my ... _fee_. And expenses."

Jadaar, overflowing with self-righteous scorn, had glared at him. "Follow me," he had said at last, acting as if Asric was so far beneath him morally as to be utterly contemptible. "I have rented a small office in the Coliseum."

Asric, barely able to stand, had limped after him to discover that _in the Coliseum_ actually meant "the gloomy second sub-basement," _office_ meant "a doorless storage niche at the foot of the stairs," and _small_ meant "barely larger than the desk that took up most of the space."

"Stop making that face," Jadaar had said curtly. "This alcove costs a tenth of the rooms at Kylene's. And it is out of the wind."

"You're here to arrest me?" Asric had asked, and then coughed.

In reply Jadaar had given him a piece of sour cheese and some stale flatbread from a drawer of the desk, then said as he left, "Wait here. Eat that."

Asric had looked through the desk. Aside from the food, there was a bundle of letters written in Draenish script, a stack of blank parchment, a battered prayerbook, and a bag of coins and odd tokens. The large bottom drawer held a bedroll, a thin blanket, and a small pillow.

Jadaar had returned with two blankets, which he'd shoved at Asric.

"Two?" Asric asked. He had supressed his surprise: one did not buy blankets for prisoners one was intending to transport back to certain evisceration in Dalaran.

"Very good. Clearly the _sin'dorei_ educational system surpasses all others."

"But the bottom drawer has — "

"Those are mine," Jadaar had said curtly. "Do not touch them."

Asric got the message: there would be no sharing, no repeat of those nights in Dalaran and Shattrath. Miffed, he had staked out the warmer, more private space behind the desk, saying, "Sleep in front of the desk, in the doorway. You'll make an excellent windbreak."

Jadaar had bristled most satisfyingly. "Is that so?"

_"_Yes, that's so_._" Asric had stripped off his sodden clothes, making sure to turn in a complete circle and stretch as he did so – _Look all you want, you pompous, repressed meatbag, and see what you'll be missing_ – and then settled down behind the desk, confident that before the night was over the draenei would fall to his charms. After all, Jadaar had followed him here, hadn't he?

But it hadn't happened that night, or the next, or the next, and Asric had cycled through impatience and doubt to arrive at a surly apathy. He told himself that he should just leave, strike out on his own. Find a way to finish his mage training … which was impossible. No one in Northrend or Eastern Kingdoms would take him as a student due to his being blacklisted by his former master, and he doubted he could bypass the Darnassian enclave's requirement that a non-_kaldorei_ figuratively shit a mountain of gold coins even to be considered for admission. So he was going to have to choose a new livelihood yet again – but what? He was tired of thieving, was too old to be a successful courtesan, and while he wasn't too old to enlist, he definitely wasn't interested in the soldier's life. This train of thought would depress to the point where he'd start to consider that last resort of the destitute, the tattered announcements about well-paying jobs on Quel'Danas – _All Expenses Paid! Free Training! Earn an Apprentice Groundskeeper's Certificate in as little as Six Weeks! _ – and then he'd come to, and decide that putting up with Jadaar was probably preferable to spending eighteen hours a day in the hot sun scraping up dragonhawk scat and dead naga.

And besides, it was a matter of pride. Asric would be damned if he was going to be the one to cave in and walk away. Jadaar thought Asric Redmourn was disposable, did he? Well, the blue oaf would learn otherwise.

And so, the stubborn blood elf and the stubborn draenei dug in their heels, day by day trudging across the same topics – the weather, the tournament, the combatants, the nearby cultists, the Lich King. Occasionally Jadaar pretended to be amiable, and on those days Asric bandied false pleasantries back. When they weren't talking they stayed within earshot of Tingiyok's refreshment stall on the tournament grounds, trying to glean leads about jealous lovers or vindictive teachers from the chaff of gossip that blew by.

Well, that was _Jadaar's_ part of their plan for finding new clients: Asric was the one who followed up on the leads – even if it sometimes put him in the middle of situations that he regretted later – because it got him away from the aromas of warm things he couldn't have, like mulled burnwine, and limited the amount of cheap, icy cold honey mead he drank. The mead only made him want to do two things: piss, or pummel Jadaar.

If only the draenei would stop being so _annoying. _Take today. Asric had just come back from the latrines – the honey mead was _very_ watery – when Jadaar held out a mug.

"Here," he said.

"What is it?" Asric asked.

"It's that sickly sweet drink you favor."

Asric took the steaming mug and sniffed. Caraway? Wait, was it really –_ burnwine?_ He wrapped his cold-numbed hands around the mug and forced himself to sip slowly, savoring the way the delicious trickle spread warmth throughout his chest. And then he frowned. "Wait a minute, why – ?"

"Your face is pale and pinched up in a most disagreeable way, as if you have Rednose Plague. Very off-putting to potential clients." Jadaar folded his arms and looked away.

Asric decided that if a tightwad like Jadaar was suddenly tossing around money like this – the burnwine cost as much as thirty tankards of mead – then he had a lot more than he was tossing. "Did you pick up a client you forgot to tell me about?" Asric had done some work for Valiance Keep earlier in the year, an investigation of several petty thefts that had led to the exposure of a black market in salvaged magical items. Of course Jadaar and the Stormwind Guard had come in and taken all the credit at the last minute, but they'd still been paid – by both the Keep and the Guard.

"There's no new client."

Asric knew that the ex-peacekeeper was probably telling the truth. The draenei had this thing where he was compelled to be truthful — which was good, because he was was absolutely the worst liar Asric had ever known. "Did you rob someone?" Asric asked. "Or find a loaded corpse? Are you working a bounty? Did you get an inheritance?"

"No, no, no, and no." Jadaar seemed equal parts amused and annoyed. "You worry too much. Just be quiet and drink your foul drink."

Asric hated being patronized almost as much as he hated secrets. "Tell me where you got the money from."

Jadaar shrugged. "If you must know, I do menial tasks for a group of professionals. It pays well."

"Fine. Don't tell me. I don't care." Asric stalked off.

"Where are you going?" Jadaar called after him.

"To lie down. The wine made me dizzy."

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Asric had had plenty of practice in appearing deathly ill, both with and without magic, and so by the time Jadaar 's huge hooves came scuffling down the stone stairs he was ready.

"Asric?"

"I'm here," Asric whispered from his spot on the floor behind the desk.

The hooves stopped in the hallway outside the office. "Are you contagious?"

"Probably not." Asric threw in a wheeze and a cough for extra effect.

"Is there … anything you need?" Jadaar sounded positively _grudging_.

"No, I think I'll just sleep," Asric gasped out in his weakest, threadiest voice. "Will you watch over me?"

"I have work to do," Jadaar said, and left.

Asric counted to thirty, then opened the bottom drawer of the desk and felt around carefully until his fingers touched the wooden potions rack. There was only one invisibility potion left. He took it, tucking the small vial carefully into a pouch hidden under his belt.

He crept up the stairs and through the tunnels, pressing into the niches behind the statues whenever he heard anyone coming, but the tournament grounds seemed relatively empty in the approaching dusk. The torches around the Sunreaver Pavilion were still unlit, the Horde Valiant's Ring was empty, and the only person in the Ring of Champions was a paladin riding an elekk in circles.

After scanning the vendor stalls and seeing no one of Jadaar's size, Asric slipped around the corner and sidled up to Flightmaster Lightwing. "Evening, Helidan. Have you seen that one-eyed draenei around today? Bastard owes me money, and I want to drink my dinner."

"Ah, Asric, you just missed him." It was hard to tell in the twilight, but the high elf seemed to be fighting laughter. "He took off for Dalaran a few minutes ago."

Asric swore softly in Thalassian. By the time he got to Dalaran it might be impossible to pick up Jadaar's trail – and with the plenitude of mages in the floating city Jadaar could already have portaled anywhere.

Still, he supposed it was worth a try. Jadaar did tend to saunter.

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Asric touched down in Dalaran to find some sort of celebration going on. Krasus' Landing was choked with people running around tossing flower petals on each other. Once he ducked past the festivity he found that the madness continued on the streets.

"Don'cha feel it?" a troll in a tuxedo asked him. "Love be in da air!" The troll blew him a kiss and danced away.

Asric scowled and pondered. If Jadaar was working a case, he'd most likely have gone to the Hold or the Citadel. He hoped it wasn't the latter: Vereesa was probably still mad about the speech Asric'd given about the Silver Covenant having a stick up its collective ass. Which it did, but that was beside the point. If she saw him, she'd probably shoot him or toss him in the Hold, with her hubby Rhonin and the Kirin Tor lapdogs backing her up.

It was so _unfair_.

Aerith, the flower vendor, tugged at his sleeve. "Hey handsome! Don't forget to buy flowers for your sweetheart."

"I don't – " he scoffed, then caught himself. "Yes, well, I'm … I'm looking for my sweetheart's brother. Draenei. Eyepatch. Two fat braids in front. See him lately?"

"Oh, _him_. Yeah, he bought a bouquet of wildflowers a few minutes ago."

_Flowers? _What was Jadaar up to? "Did you notice which way he went?"

"That way, I think." She pointed toward the fountain in front of the bank.

Asric tossed her a coin and then wove through the crowd, for once grateful that Jadaar's height made him so easy to spot. As he got closer to the bank he saw that the steps were packed with picnickers kissing under striped umbrellas. Past them, he could see two or three draenei in the throng inside the bank, but every one of them was facing away from him.

As he looked around for the best out-of-the-way vantage point in case one of them did turn out to be Jadaar, he noticed Applebough, the treant fruit vendor, taking money from a draenei with an eyepatch.

"Too easy," Asric murmured, fading to the right – away from the Silver Covenant Guards by the inn – so that he could watch Jadaar from across the street.

The windbag did indeed have a bouquet. The flowers puzzled Asric, but the most likely explanation was that Jadaar was planning to interview or interrogate a woman, and he probably thought that the flowers would gain her trust or throw her off her guard or some such nonsense. Asric supposed that it was _possible_ that Jadaar had snuck away from the tournament for personal reasons, for a clandestine meeting with a secret lover, but if Jadaar _was_ having an affair, he'd certainly kept it well-hidden.

_So_ annoying.

Jadaar finished with Applebough, then entered the Silver Enclave. From his spot across the street Asric watched him go into a portal.

"You can't go in there," a female voice purred in Asric's ear. "You're Horde, and the Silver Covenant guards would spank that delicious bottom of yours."

"I am aware of that," Asric snapped. He glanced at the speaker: An elf mage, wearing an exceptionally clingy gown that highlighted truly _spectacular_ breasts.

"Although," she said, tracing the seams on his gloves with a red-nailed finger, "If the price was right, I could open a portal that _you_ could use, if you need to follow him."

"How much?" Asric asked, as he said it knowing that he sounded too eager.

"Eighty silver," she said.

"That's _four times_ the cost of a rune," Asric said.

"Well," she drawled, "you're also paying for my … _magical expertise_." She pressed against his arm.

"Forty." Her cleavage had to be magically enhanced. It _had_ to be.

"Tick tock, Red," she said. "The longer we talk, the further away your … _tail_ gets."

"Fine." Asric slapped the coins into her hand.

She cast the portal, but just as he was about to step though she stopped him. "That's Stormwind, you know. You won't survive long."

Asric frowned. He had the invisibility potion, true, but it was a cheap one. Ten minutes, fifteen max, and not guaranteed in hostile faction cities.

"However … " She leaned in. "As long as you promise not to assassinate anyone while you're there, I can rent you a disguise. _Extremely_ convincing. Orb of Deception, Special Edition."

"How much?"

"How much do you have?"

Asric opened his money bag and showed her. "Two gold, twenty or so silver."

"I'll take two gold."

Asric snorted. "No disguise is _that_ good."

In reply the mage pulled off her necklace, and immediately her breasts went flat, her waist inflated, her hips deflated, and her glorious mane of hair turned into a frizzy moustache and a long beard as she shrank and shrank and shrank. "You sure about that?" the gnome asked Asric's shins in a squeaky tenor.

"Two gold it is." Asric said, bending down to pay the rental fee. "How long can I keep it?"

"As long as you need to, but don't take it off 'til you're done using it: it'll return to me instantly."

Asric barely had time to fasten the Orb around his neck before the mage pushed him through the portal.

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	2. Part II

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

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><p><strong>Not Half Bad, Part 2<br>**

_by Silverr, for Jack of None_

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><p>.<p>

Once through the portal, Asric wasn't sure what unnerved him more: that he was in the fabled Wizard's Sanctum of Stormwind — with dozens of the most legendary books of magic within reach — or that the gnome's Orb had transformed him into a draenei.

A _female_ draenei.

Because yes, those certainly were breasts on his chest. Counterbalancing them in the back was a tail, which made him feel a bit as if the lower half of his body was put on backwards. When he took a step the combination of the long robe he'd magically acquired and the unfamiliar bending and flexing that was going on below his knees made him stagger a little.

"First time through?" An acolyte was watching him with far too much curiosity. "It can be disorienting."

"Yes," Asric said truthfully. His voice, a velvety contralto, pleased him. "I'll be fine." _Draenei_ … he'd have to remember to be excessively polite. Wasn't _that_ going to be a chore. "Er, thank you for your concern."

He hurried forward toward the purple-runed arch that held the only visible exit.

Sun's light, this body was _bouncy_ ... He was just about to give his new breasts a test squeeze when he noticed bookcases and a High Sorcerer.

"Do you have any books for me?" the sorcerer asked eagerly.

"Ah, no. No sir." Asric did his best imitation of a curtsey, then followed the ramp ahead of him, which curved down and out of sight.

At the bottom of the ramp was a flickering mage portal to Outland. Could Jadaar have gone there? It was possible, he supposed, but unlikely. Asric went through the arched exit and out into the open twilight air.

A ridiculous number of tree-branches obscured his view, but when he put out his hand as if to strangle the leaves a gust of wind blew everything aside. Below him and just ahead, a familiar blue tail passed under a lantern and then bobbed out of sight. He jumped down, wincing at the impact, and ran after it.

What an appalling rabbit warren this Alliance city was! To followed Jadaar he had to go through a tunnel, across a canal, into another tunnel (_another_ tunnel? Were the humans claustrophilic?), turned right, then left at a fountain, passed a notice board … and damnit, he'd lost him. He thought longingly of Silvermoon's wide avenues.

Someone bumped into him.

"Cheese and mead, food of the ancestors!" The speaker was a dwarf, white haired and bearded, with peculiar glowing eyes. "Dargrim of Ironforge, at yer service mi'lady. Are you lost? Hungry? Thirsty? Lonely? Hungry?"

"No ... not … no. No. I just lost — " Asric was inspired. "— _my purse_. Yes. I think a pickpocket must have taken all my money. I don't even have enough silver to fly home." He put one hand on his chest and fluttered it as if helpless.

"Here's fare and something to eat." The dwarf pressed a few coins and a small wheel of cheese into Asric's hand. "Give the guards a description, if you can. They'll catch the dirty thief."

"Ah, yes. Thank you." Asric saw a familiar hulking blue figure carrying a bouquet of flowers come out of a shop next to the city's main gate, and then lean against a lamppost while he ate something. "You're very ... kind," Asric told the dwarf, "but I must go. Now."

"Farewell," the death knight said with a bow. "And just remember," he said, leaning in with a raised eyebrow, "if you're ever this way again, there are those who don't mind ladies with hooves or a tail _one bit_."

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To Asric's surprise Jadaar didn't go out the main gate: instead he walked to the end of the block – passing so close that the panic-frozen Asric could have poked him – and then turned right, following a sign that said "Gryphon Roost."

Asric followed, trying to act casual. Up the ramp, across the boards, reaching the roost just as Jadaar's bird took off. "My stupid brother," he said quickly to the gryphon master, "he was supposed to wait for me, and then he ... dropped his _cheese_, and now I have to chase after him. Where did he fly to?"

"Darkshire, in Duskwood," the human said. "Three silver, 30 copper."

Asric paid the fare, hiked up his robe, and managed to get relatively situated before the gryphon took off.

He had to admit, the quick glimpse he got of the Stormwind gates – with their five towering, torchlit statues overlooking the wide stone bridge – had a rugged energy that was _somewhat_ impressive. Nowhere near as elegant or graceful as Silvermoon, of course, but not entirely unappealing.

The rest of the ride took place in near darkness, the only sound the whoosh of the gryphon's wings and the rustling of the black treetops below. As the bird spiraled down Asric could see some commotion going on in a town square near a fountain: a dozen or so figures were fighting something large and lumpy and white. In their midst was Jadaar, swinging what looked like a glowing sledgehammer in one hand and a pickaxe in the other. Now and again a swirl of lightning or wind surrounded him.

As soon as Asric landed he ran down the hill toward the fight. The white lump was an unusually large Abomination, which fell with a thud and a gust of noxious gases just as Asric reached the fountain.

Someone shoved a bucket of water at him, and he realized that he had run into the midst of a line of townsfolk trying to put out a fire in the town hall. As he passed buckets he noticed Jadaar kneeling next to a Watcher whose shoulder was an ugly, bloody mess of muscle and bone. Jadaar held one hand over the wound, and with the other made a sort of emphatic lifting gesture, but it wasn't until streams and sparkles of golden light began floating up from the Watcher's wound that Asric realized Jadaar had cast a spell: based on the glowing blue sigil above Jadaar's forehead, it had been Gift of the Naaru.

Asric generally didn't give much thought to Jadaar being Draenei in the sense of belonging to an entire race with a distinct culture and history and innate magical abilities: for him _draenei_ was simply a word, like _windbag_ and _oaf_, associated with a particular individual. An individual who, until this moment, Asric had never seen fight, and never seen heal. It was odd, how those few moments almost made Jadaar seem like a different person. An intriguing stranger.

Asric kept passing buckets – the town hall was now mostly smoking rather than burning – and surreptitiously watched as Jadaar went into the blacksmith's. When he came out a moment later without the sledgehammer or the pickaxe and started walking back toward the flight-master, Asric stepped out of the bucket line and ran after him.

Seeing Jadaar in action had given Asric an idea on how to make it easier to follow the draenei: appeal to his ridiculously old-fashioned sense of chivalry toward a damsel in distress. "Excuse me?"

"Yes?"

"Can you help me? I … I need to get away from here. I think I'm being followed. Would you be my bodyguard? I don't feel safe staying in this town by myself."

"I'm sorry," Jadaar said with a small bow, "but I'm already late for … there's a place I have to be." He started walking again, but he looked conflicted.

"Please, I'm begging you," Asric said, knowing that he was closing in on his prey. "I don't care where you're going, as long as it's away from here. I'll sit quietly in the corner, I promise. I won't make any trouble. You won't even know I'm there."

Jadaar stopped, studied him for a second, then nodded. "Alright. I hope she won't mind." He picked up his bouquet of flowers – which he'd apparently stick in a knothole of the fence when he landed – and asked the flight-master, "Can this woman ride on my pass?"

Pass? Jadaar had a _pass_? For what?

"If she fits on the bird with you, I don't see why not."

Jadaar stuck the stems of the bouquet into the collar of his breastplate, swung onto a gryphon, and, before Asric could protest, lifted him up to sit sidesaddle in front of him. Asric's legs were draped over Jadaar's left thigh, leaving him little to hold onto except the draenei's left forearm.

Jadaar made a clicking noise, and the gryphon sprang into the air and headed southeast.

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It was, once he got over the terror, a rather pleasant ride.

Jadaar's right arm, which was holding the pommel of the saddle, supported Asric's back. Jadaar's left arm, which was sort of half-encircling him, was being moved by the motion of the bird across Asric's breasts – and though it was undoubtedly a side effect of the Orb, it all was creating an increasingly tingly warmth in his nethers. Really, with bodies this sensitive, it was a miracle that draenei women ever got out of bed at all. Asric wondered how they managed coupling if two tails were involved. Certain positions would be more comfortable than others, he supposed. That thought quickly led to a fleeting curiosity about whether it would be possible to take _full _advantage of the realism of the Orb he was wearing, and with the images that this thought brought up he had to bite his lip.

"So," Asric said, casually letting his left hand drop to his lap, and then slide over the side of his thigh to rest on Jadaar's codpiece. "Where is it that we are going?" Blessed sun! As he well remembered, that bulge supporting his wrist _wasn't_ padding.

"Madam," Jadaar said coldly. "Move your hand, or I will toss you off this gryphon."

"You don't like me?" Asric said, quickly putting his hand back in his own lap.

"I didn't say that," Jadaar said, a little less sternly. "But I'm spoken for."

"I see." Spoken for? So Jadaar _was _having an affair! Was he on his way to an assignation? It would certainly explain his coldness, and secretiveness, and the purchase of flowers. It didn't quite explain the sudden influx of money – unless … was Jadaar being _kept?_

Well, that was ridiculous. Who'd want a stodgy one-eyed slab of blue beef anyhow?

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The landscape below them changed; trees thinned and then disappeared, in their place a terrain of jutting stone. Asric had a vague sense that they must be near the Swamp of Sorrows, but it wasn't until a hulking, vaguely phallic shape began to resolve out of the darkness ahead that he was certain.

Medivh's Folly.

Jadaar's lover was in Karazhan.

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_.  
><em>

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(09) 2 February 2012


	3. Part III

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

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NOTE: Although overall this story probably doesn't quite deserve the "M" rating I gave it - it's not explicit - it _does_ comically treat some topics that are usually "M" material.

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><p><strong>Not Half Bad, Part 3<br>**

_by Silverr, for Jack of None_

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><p>.<p>

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"Karazhan?" Asric said as the gryphon circled the Folly and landed on a long narrow roost notched into the side of the tower. "Isn't this place full of vengeful spirits and abandoned magical monstrosities? And beings from other planes?"

Jadaar slid off the gryphon, pulling Asric with him. For a moment they stood face to face – nearly close enough to kiss – and Asric's insides fluttered just a little.

Which was ridiculous. Blood elf men did not flutter. Perhaps draenei women did, but even then, he was sure they wouldn't get worked up over –

Jadaar let him go. "Yes, but we'll be bypassing them." He took out a large key and unlocked an iron gate at the far end of the roost, then pointed to the portal just inside the door. "Follow me."

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The portal deposited them in front of an alcove in a corner of a very large, high-ceilinged room. In front of them was a waist-high marble counter; behind them, milling around the room or lounging in chairs, were several women, all beautiful and all but one severely under-dressed.

"_There_ he is," a woman in a long brocade robe said, and walked to them.

"My apologies for being late, Hostess," Jadaar said. He held out the bouquet of wildflowers.

"For me?" The Hostess sniffed the flowers. "You're _such_ a sweetheart, Jadaar."

"It is nothing." Jadaar said with a small bow.

"So," the Hostess asked as she conjured a vase with water for the flowers and set them on the counter, "Who's your lovely friend? She looks very …_ virginal_."

Asric admired the talent it took to make such a word sound so unreservedly perverted.

"She is not here for employment," Jadaar said. "She is ... temporarily under my protection."

"Gallant as always." The Hostess batted her lashes at Jadaar, then turned to Asric. "You'd better sit out of sight, cutie. I have a feeling some of our clients will want to eat you up if they see you – and I do mean that literally."

Hostess? Clients? Asric realized, as he settled himself on a low footstool behind the counter that, as unbelievable as it seemed, he was in the infamous Karazhan Guest Chambers.

It was just his luck. Here he was, in a legendary paradise of debauchery – rumored to admit only the most powerful and insanely wealthy personages – and he didn't have his cock. It just wasn't _fair_. He smoothed his robe over his knees and sulked.

"So what do you think of the place?" The Hostess took a huge leather-bound ledger from a shelf under the counter.

"It's – " _Draenei, remember you're draenei_ " – very nice," Asric said. "The rooms are surprisingly spacious."

"Yes, well, they have to be," the Hostess said absently as she studied a page in the ledger. "Though I can't name names, of course, but between you and me some of our clients tend to … well, let's just say that our rooms need to be large enough to accommodate an expansive wingspan from time to time."

_Legendary._

Asric sighed. He still didn't know why Jadaar was here, or where his money was coming from, or even where he'd disappeared to. Wait, was it possible … ? If the Chambers' clientele included those who preferred to have sex with dragons, might it … might it also include those who were so jaded by beauty and intelligence and wit that they'd couple with a battered, holier-than-thou simpleton? If that were the case … well, if that were the case, Asric wanted proof.

"Well, well," The Hostess said, snatching up a piece of parchment with flaming runes that had just materialized in the air above the counter. "Mort's coming by."

"Is he bringing Syyla?" one of the women asked eagerly. "I'm in a bondage mood tonight."

Asric heard a number of the Mistresses and Concubines walking over to the counter. "Gotta love a boneman with horny minions," someone else said.

There was a ripple of laughter.

"The last time he was here, he asked if the imp could join in – can you believe it?" a third woman said. "Actually, it wasn't half bad ..."

The Hostess turned to Asric, "Now, you stay put, sweet thing." She walked out into the reception room.

Asric, who really didn't see what harm could come from _looking_, inched into the shadows of the back wall and then stood very slowly.

The portal was still glowing. In front of it was a Forsaken warlock. He was dressed like a lowly novice – drab black hooded robe, no cloak, no jewelry. His only embellishment was black leather straps criss-crossed over his eye sockets. One would pass him on the street without a second glance, and yet, he was here, which meant that he had money, or power, or both. It confirmed what Asric had always suspected, that there was an inverse relation between the gaudiness of a warlock's garb and the amount of power they commanded.

"Mort! How can we serve you today?"

"I've recently acquired a new _sayaad_," Mort said. In contrast to his dour appearance, his gravelly voice had a sly, almost mischievous tone. "He's working out rather well, but requires specialized maintenance."

"He? A _male_?" The Hostess asked incredulously. "An ... an _incubus_? I thought they were a myth."

"No," Mort said. "They're rare, to be sure, but they can be found. And subjugated. If you have sufficient skill and patience."

"Could you bring him out now?" The Hostess asked. "So that we all can see him?"

"If I must," Mort said, and began the summon.

All the females gave a sigh as the incubus appeared, but Asric didn't see what the fuss was about: from the back, the naked demon was of average height and build, and while his ass was nicely muscled, it wasn't extraordinary. Asric had seen many just like it.

And then the incubus made a quarter turn and looked back over his shoulder at Asric. Even more than the smoldering eyes, the way he slowly licked his lips – which were full and curved and radiated wantonness – suggested that he very much wanted to be elsewhere, doing whatever Asric desired, as many times as Asric wanted to do it.

"Guh," was all Asric could manage. He wanted nothing more than to jump over the counter, hike up his robe, and ride the incubus dry, but instead he squeezed his legs together under the heavy robe and forced himself to look away.

"So which of us," one of the Night Mistresses asked breathlessly, "gets to be his … _maintenance?"_

Jadaar walked in just then with a huge bundle of laundered sheets balanced on one shoulder. As he went to the back of the reception area and bent to put the linens on a low shelf, the incubus murmured something.

Asric didn't know Demonic, but it was a safe bet that the incubus had said something along the lines of _I want that big ugly blue thing over there._

"T'Skom's tastes are ... somewhat unusual for an incubus," Mort said. "Tell me – that one-eyed eredar. He was here last time, wasn't he?"

Jadaar heard this. Glowering at Mort and the incubus from across the room, he stood tall, puffed out his chest, and announced, "I am not _man'ari!_ I am _draenei!"_

"Noted," Mort said, then asked The Hostess, "So, is he an employee?"

"He's our chambermaid," The Hostess said.

Mort said, "Double my usual fee? Triple? More? Name a number, I'll do the math."

"I ... could ... _not_ ... possibly!" Jadaar choked out.

"How very unfortunate," Mort said, then held up his hand to silence The Hostess, who looked as though she was ready to flay Jadaar. "No no, it's perfectly fine. I may worship the Darkness, but that doesn't mean that I can't accept that no means no." He sighed melodramatically. "I suppose I'll continue attempting to train my doomguard for these duties. Could the appropriate implements be taken to my usual room?" He tapped his lipless mouth with a skeletal finger. "And I suppose, as long as I'm _here_, I might as well give Syyla and Gaznip a treat too. Did you get those gnomehide restraints repaired?"

"Jadaar," The Hostess said, "Take ToyBox Eight to Room Three, and the Flowered Funbag to the small dungeon."

Jadaar, whose ears had turned dark blue, pulled down a large ironbound chest from a high shelf, set a small brocade satchel atop it, and then carried both quickly out into the hall.

Asric had seen enough: though it had been hard to believe, Jadaar really _was_ "doing menial labor for professionals," and so he supposed he might as well slip out and get back to the tournament grounds before Jadaar finished work. Stonard was fairly close to Karazhan, and being an orc outpost he'd have no trouble arranging transportation. Inching slowly from behind the counter – being careful to avoid looking at the incubus, who he was_ sure _was still looking at him – he whispered to one of the Concubines, "Is there somewhere I can – "_ No, he shouldn't say piss. Could he say relieve?_ " – where I can cleanse myself?"

"Oh sweetie, I know what you mean," the Concubine whispered back. "That incubus sure makes me want to _cleanse_ myself, too." She flicked her eyes over Asric, then purred, "Hey, maybe we could go ... _cleanse_ each other, hm?"

"Ah ... I ... ah ... " It was so tempting, and so unfair.

"Oh, it's so cute that you're shy," she said with a laugh, patting Asric's cheek. "End of the hall. Follow Jadaar."

Asric hurried to catch up to the swishing blue tail. Behind him he heard Mort asking, "And I suppose that delicious girl with the horns isn't available either?"

"Down there," Jadaar said, pointing with his chin as Asric caught up to him. "Around the corner, at the end of the hall. I'd advise locking the door," he added.

Once Asric was out of sight around the indicated corner he pulled the invisibility potion from his bag and drank it without considering how it would interact with the Orb of Deception.

Fortunately, the two seemed to stack just fine: he was now an _invisible_ draenei female. As he stealthed back to the entrance and past the room he saw Jadaar – who was staring at something in the "toybox" – look around furtively and then hurry across the room to a large wooden wardrobe, step inside, and shut the door.

Well, wasn't _that_ interesting?

Asric didn't have to weigh the possible consequences of not getting back to Northrend before Jadaar – if Jadaar even noticed his absence – against the possibility of discovering some juicy, dirty secret that he could bank to leverage at just the right time: potential blackmail was the clear winner. He slipped into the room and into a corner behind a large potted plant, a position that gave him an unobstructed view of the wardrobe while offering camouflage of any shimmer from the invisibility.

Several minutes later Mort and his incubus came in (presumably after setting up his other minions in the dungeon). The incubus sniffed the air and said, _"Thal'kituun," _but soon any scent he might have caught of the hidden spectators was masked by the sulfurous mist of the Binding Circle Mort conjured in the center of the room. A few seconds later a doomguard materialized, and the incubus began to slink around the large, red-skinned demon, oogling the high curved wings, the massive pectorals. and the thickly-muscled thighs.

Mort went to the bookcase and selected a tome, then sat down in a high-backed wooden chair and began to read.

The incubus swaggered up to the doomguard, posing.

_Incubus. Bah._ Asric thought. The demon wasn't all _that_ well-endowed.

The doomguard growled a warning through his needle-sharp teeth as the incubus started to lift his loincloth.

Asric stifled a laugh. _"Move your hand, or I will toss you off this gryphon!"_ indeed.

Without looking up from his book the warlock muttered a few words. Two shadowy chains bound the doomguard's arms to his sides.

Brawn, not brain, was the doomguard's forte, it seemed, because even after receiving some extremely skillful attention from the incubus it seemed he hadn't caught on to what was required of him. The incubus – who was clearly irritated by his lack of success – went to the chest, took out an elaborately carved item, and demonstrated its use.

Nothing.

"You know what T'Skom wants," Mort murmured, turning a page. "Cooperate, or endless torment."

At last there was a spark of comprehension in the doomguard's beady black eyes.

"And," Mort added, "don't be leisurely. I've got to be at Venomspite in an hour, and there are corpses to pick up on the way."

What followed was savage, and relentless, and completely lacking in foreplay, but that didn't seem to bother the incubus ... far from it, in fact. As he watched the spectacle Asric's invisible tail twitched in terror and misplaced empathy. By the time Mort closed his book, dismissed his minions, and left the room, Asric had a new definition of stamina. And "well-endowed."

Actually, he had quite a few new definitions – just no words to attach them to.

When the wardrobe door finally opened and Jadaar emerged, his neck and ears were so black he looked like a disembodied head. He walked over to the potted plant and said, "I know you're there, Asric. Stay where you are while I clean the floor."

.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Asric – still in his Orb of Deception draenei body – went back to the reception room once the invisibility potion wore off and dutifully sat on the footstool, out of sight while Jadaar went off on his Guest Chambers duties.

Duties which Asric now knew to be not just laundry and lifting heavy objects, but odd –_ very_ odd – janitorial tasks.

Asric was morose. Even eavesdropping on the Night Mistress talking about her bondage session with Syyla didn't lift his spirits. He _should_ have felt smug: he'd discovered where Jadaar's money was coming from, and had caught him doing naughty spying, but mostly he was … well, he was almost _embarrassed_ for Jadaar, in a way. Jadaar had been a Peacekeeper. A "proud Son of Argus" and all that. He'd lost his eye fighting Scourge, as far as Asric had heard, and despite that still swung a mean sledgehammer. _And_ he healed people. He ought not to be mopping up demon fluids in a brothel. It wasn't_ right_.

"I'm done. Let's go." Jadaar sounded as gruff as ever.

"Goodbye," The Hostess said, giving Asric a quick peck on each cheek. "Take care of yourself. It's tough be be alone. Good thing you found Jadaar."

"Yes," Asric said, feeling distinctly blue in the tendrils. "A good thing."

As soon as they exited the upper portal onto the gryphon ledge Asric asked, "How did you know?"

"I became suspicious when I smelled caraway on your breath when you approached me in Darkshire," Jadaar said briskly. "It was confirmed on the ride here: no true Daughter of Argus would be as … "

"Slutty?" Asric laughed. "I have news for you. This body is _designed_ for sex. It's _built_ of sex."

Jadaar snorted. "Clearly due to the wearer." His face became serious and he reached out, almost touching one of Asric's tendrils. "You pretended to be ill so that you could follow me? And took on this female disguise? Why go to such lengths?"

Asric wasn't ready to admit anything. "You knew I was in the room before Mort came in. Why didn't you say something then?"

"I was curious why you were there, and wanted to see what you would do." Jadaar turned to one of the sleepy gryphons and started coaxing it off its roost.

"Well, mostly I was there to see why _you_ were there." He wished Jadaar would turn around. "It was quite a show, eh? I didn't think the big stupid one would ever catch on."

"Well, the small one was much too impatient," Jadaar muttered. "A consequence of existing only to seek pleasure."

"He didn't expect to have to work so hard for what he wanted," Asric said. For an instant he wished he could take it back, but then he decided it didn't matter. "Speaking of pleasure, I'd never have suspected that _you _were into watching demon sexcapades. Aren't your people supposed to be too exalted and spiritual for that sort of thing?"

Jadaar mumbled something.

"What?"

"I said I was doing _research_," Jadaar said.

"Research?" Asric walked around the gryphon so that he could look Jadaar in the eye. "On what?"

"This seems an ideal place to learn about – advanced techniques."

"And you'll apply this knowledge of advanced techniques _how?"_

"For a narcissist, you don't have much self confidence," Jadaar said with infuriating calmness. He lifted his head as if making a royal proclamation. "A jaded elf who has had hundreds of lovers is likely to need something unusual, even perverted, for stimulation."

"What …" Asric wasn't sure if he should be insulted or flattered. "You think I've been with hundreds? Really?"

"It seems a reasonable assumption," Jadaar said. "Now let's get going. I've heard that gryphons don't startle easily, and while I might be willing to test that rumor if you were in your usual shape, it's best that you keep your disguise until we are out of Alliance territory." He climbed onto the gryphon, and held out a hand to Asric. "So I must ask you to pretend to be a virtuous woman and keep your hands to yourself until we are in Dalaran."

"It looks to me," Asric said, "that the seams in your trousers might not hold together that long."

"That remains to be seen," Jadaar said, pulling Asric up onto the saddle and then urging the gryphon into the night sky. "But I have found that patience is good for the soul."

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_~ The end ~_

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**A few Author's Notes  
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This story crystallized around a tiny fleck of plunny that's been in my head for years. Ever since I heard the Concubine NPCs in the Guest Quarters of Karazhan say, _"He asked if the imp could join in - can you believe it? … Actually, it wasn't half bad..." _ I've wanted to build something around that line.

JackOfNone's Yuletide 2010 prompt – which mentioned warlocks – made a little (red) light pop up in my head, and so here we are.

The mention at the beginning of chapter 1 that A&J had had an encounter while in Shattrath is a hat-tip to Alassenya's funny, sexy story This Changes Nothing.

The wowwiki article on Eredun says that _Thal'kituun_ means "unseen guest."

"Mort" is a tiny hat tip to Oxhorn's Mortuus. Who likes Tauren ladies, I hasten to add.

Finally: I should say that, almost without exception, I have loved the designs of every single warlock dungeon and Tier set. Though this fic pokes fun at "gaudy" warlock gear, a belfboi in Tier 5 still renders me incoherent.

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More author's notes are at my LiveJournal and Dreamwidth (entry dated Oct 28th).

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concept 18 October 2011

(12) 3 Mar 2014


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